Steward: Invasion
by Tidelcus
Summary: Aldorile, the Elven Steward, has pledged his life and death to preserve his people's culture. But when the whole world is threatened can he preserve the way of his people in spirit but not law...even when he must give up everything he is trying to save?
1. Default Chapter

                Of all the places he could be right now, the lake was not his first choice.  He flexed his slender hands and shook them out, feeling the coolness of the air against his damp palms.  He felt the smooth fabric of his tunic against his thigh and closed his eyes, hiding their red glow.  Music danced in the background, teasing him.  He loved the drums, the way they pounded in motion with the turning of the world and harmonized with the flickering of stars.  Everything around him was caught up in the music.  Everything but the lake.  _Why here?_  _Why now?_  Questions that tugged for answers stretched his patience thin with their persistence though he purposefully trained them elsewhere.  _Control over the self.  In this lies the only way to overcome emotion.  But do not destroy emotion; emotion is part of the driving force of our kind._  He smirked, kicking a stick into the pond.  _Passion is at the heart of defending the Elven Way for the Way itself is defined by its passions.  And though it may define you, do not let it control you._

                He sighed longingly.  Landoreth.  Writing books in hazel illumination with those gliding hands, which though masked by time's etchings were incredibly strong, like her heart.  Those books she wrote on weaponry, swordfighting, music, magic, dance and the amalgamation of them all into the elven Bladesinger.  He sighed again, this time tucking his chin to his chest above folded arms.  He kicked another stick into the pond.

                _Of all places it had to be the lake_.

                The water lay completely still and he couldn't help but admire its stillness.  Although encircled by the tall trees that surrounded its shore the waters lay in stillness, not fearing the trees' or their occupants' consumption of its resource.  It knew the water taken by them would return in its time.  The blue he saw on the lake's surface did not hide from his heart's eyes its resentful waiting.  The illusion of the restful existence did not fool him.  No, this water did not belong here and everything around it gave off the air of contention.  Even now the lake participated in the life cycles around it, giving water to its neighbors unrestrained.  And yet it waited in turmoil underneath.  Deep underneath where the surface did not watch.

                _I hate those trees.  I hate their leeching.  I hate the way the leaves fall around the lake but never on it.  I hate the way the winds hurry all away from the waters' edge.  I hate the suspicious glances of the approaching dear and the halting steps of the bear at its shore._  He grated the flats of his teeth together; his dark face became even more so with the oncoming emotions of anger, frustration and resentment.

                _It is not just.  It is not right._

_                Anger.  Passion.  _

_                And though it may define you, do not let it control you._

                Aldorile's shoulders heaved with a deep breath.  "Of all places," he said.

                His friend put her arm around his belted waist and gave a little squeeze.  He felt his back slump a little – a sign he was relaxing a bit.  "It's okay.  One day the Steward will open their eyes."

                "What if nobody cares?"

                "We care."

                "As if that mattered."

                He felt her arm tense up and pull back a little.  Her voice firm and tight, "It matters enough for the Steward.  When He takes the water and they all mourn, we will see.  They will see."

                _They will see._

_                They will see the gaping hole they have left in our world.  They will see the severed limbs of our Way._

_                They will see it is not just._

_                They will see it is not right._

                Aldorile put his hand into the icy blue of the lake's surface.  He felt the water heave, then sigh.  "Until then," he said to the depths, "I wait with you."

                "Not for long Aldorile."  A voice of power.

                The voice was more shocking than the chill of the water.  Emonwe.  "You're late m'Lady."

                She extended her hand gracefully, revealing her intentions.  "My orders for you," she said, nodding at the roll of parchment in her hand.  "Follow the directions _very carefully._"  His training picked up on her message.  _Be secret for this is bigger than you_.

                He retrieved the parchment and bowed.  "Yes m'Lady.  As you wish."

                "Very well.  Take care of yourself Bladesinger.  You are more precious than you know."  She looked at the girl and smirked.  "And it looks like I'm not the only one who thinks so."  The girl pulled her arm back and looked to the pine needles blanketing the ground.  Presently, she cleared her throat.  "Looks like I am wanted."  Just then a page ran up, waiting ten feet yards away.  "Until next time Bladesinger."

                Aldorile bowed, then stood, avoiding his friend's eyes.  "I, uh, have to go now."  And with that he turned and strode into the wood, toward the music, where his night's lodging had been prepared.


	2. Niramo's Post

Yellows.  Greens.  Browns.  If the myriad colors of the grasslands didn't tempt him, its fragrances invited Aldorile to come and walk among the miles of untainted fields.  _Ah yes – the smells,_ he said to himself.  His mind ignited into reminiscent fervor in memory of his childhood.  Always he would come into the fields.  The colors and smells were the same.  Ever constant in its changing, even the rustles and chirps of the small animals were familiar.  Aldorile peered out of the forest, standing there next to his Border Guard brethren.  They weren't brothers in biological parental relation, but they were all chosen to keep the evil threats away from the land of the wood.  Songs were made and poems written about heroes thrusting back the minions of darkness so that peace once more could reign in the land of the elves.  This was his heritage.

                "Oh, quit with the bravado," he said, looking at the ground and shaking his head.  _You're not a hero.  You're a diplomat with a sword._

His excitement was not unfounded though.  Yesterday his mentor called him to the Council, where the War Wizard had given him the task of getting the orcs out of the grasslands and back into the dead wood.  Personally he wanted to get them out of the dark wood as well, but this was not his task, according to her.  He suspected the Council was really behind the diplomatic nature of this mission.  If the War Wizard had her way, Aldorile was sure, the orcs would be dead by now and their leaders in elven captivity.  But the Council had a different approach – they believed all life precious, evil or good_.  "Even though armed conflict might be a foregone conclusion," the War Wizard had said, "use it as a last resort."_  He, being on his first mission, didn't dare propose his views on the matter, much less disagree with her.  But then again, her views must be different from the Council's.  "She is a _War_ Wizard after all," he said aloud.

                SsssWAP!  Aldorile slammed against a tree as an arrow pinned him there through his tunic.

                "Not very good at this game are you?"  It was a smart-aleck border guard ten feet away from him.  He really should have heard him coming.

                "I'll show you a game you'll never forget."  Aldorile tore himself free with that comment and focused, casting a _Sleep_ spell.  As he turned the other elf wore a huge grin.  _Not for long,_ Aldorile said to himself.  He pointed and the Guard slumped to the ground.  Aldorile walked over slowly and kneeled down next to him, whispering and drawing on the back of the unconscious elf's armor.  Then he stood up and smiled.

                The Guards who were standing next to Aldorile at first watched from where they stood.  One of them leaned to another and said, "He looks happy with himself doesn't he?"

                "Yeah.  Bladesingers freak me out sometimes.  I don't trust their magic.  It's not for peace but for war.  He should leave his magic at home where it belongs.  And it's downright eerie how he smiles like that.  You don't think he cursed him do you?"

                "Oh please – _Aldorile_?  He's harmless to elves.  Well, unless you turn Drow.  Then you'd better invest in an invisibility cloak and an army of bodyguards.  That is one guy you want on your side in a battle.  You won't find a more faithful companion than a Bladesinger, and you won't find a more faithful Bladesinger than Aldorile.  You done with your black magic curse casting?"

                Aldorile smiled.  "Save it Niramo," he said, standing up as he slapped the knocked out Guard in the face.  "What's this Archer's name?"

                "Ininde," Niramo answered.  "Damn good shooter, isn't he?"

                "Best I've seen since the tournament ten years ago.  You remember that?"

                "Vaguely."

                Ininde was standing up now since the spell dissipated with the slap in the face.  Another grin.  "Me neither.  As I recall it was pretty boring that year."  They both had a good laugh while the rest of them looked on smirking.  Niramo had broken a 5,000 year-old record at the end of that tournament.  

The sun was glaring down on them as they walked and talked of the last month's events near the border.  Niramo had his hands full running double patrols to make sure nobody unwanted entered the forest.  The orc armies of the East had crossed the river and inhabited the dark woods up North across the plain.  The plain was only a few days' journey across, and the orcs set their base up just inside the dark wood tree line according to the scouts.  Then the patrols started, but not around the orc territory.  They were patrolling in the grasslands around the elven forest making it obvious they were making sure no elves were going to cross the narrow stretch of land to the dark wood.  In reality only the Wilderness Runners, the elf rangers, made homes in those woods.  They were the ones trying to re-vitalize the lands and help make that forest teem with life as it once had.  Now they kept hidden, monitoring all the movements of the orcs and making updated reports every few days.

                "So Aldorile, what brings you back out to the border?"

                "The War Wizard sent me out here to negotiate with the orcs."

                "Negotiate?  Emonwe sent you out here to negotiate?"

                _I wonder if he is surprised that orcs would negotiate or if Emonwe would waste the resource of a Bladesinger to negotiate with those who don't negotiate._  "That's what she said.  'Even though armed conflict might be a foregone conclusion, use it as a last resort,' were her exact words."

                "Hmmm.  That's not like her."

                "I think it's the Council."

                "Yeah.  That sounds feasible.  Was she serious?"

                "Yes; everything about her told me she was not kidding nor trying to get two different messages across.  She does not want me to go prepared to wipe them out.  I wonder if she doesn't know what to make of them yet."

                "Probably.  Nobody really does.  They are just so different from all the other orcs we've ever dealt with."

                _So he knows more than I do.  If Emonwe didn't tell me what she told Niramo I don't need to know._  "Well, we'll see tomorrow when I go to negotiate."  With that he left for the Guardhouse on the edge of the forest.  A room was prepared for him, along with a week's provisions, polishing and sharpening equipment and a long, broad white cloth.  Aldorile packed the cloth first; on this occasion that was the last thing he wanted to forget (beside his sword of course). He then polished his baldric, sword and buckles, taking the greatest care to make everything look formal.  He looked out the window to the setting sun through the edge of the forest.  A fire was setting that would not rise again for hours.  There was nothing to do about the enveloping darkness but wait until the sun returned.


	3. Orc Negotiation?

Aldorile came to rest by a fallen tree.  He sat down with his back to it and prepared himself for the meeting he was going to have at nightfall.  _Orc negotiations_, he thought, _Of all the ridiculous suggestions. _ The only negotiating he had ever heard of was written in blood on the tablet of the earth.  That kind of negotiation tended to lead to sour relations.  _Even if they do negotiate, they will not agree to the terms we set for them.  The terms require too much of the orcs.  They will have their offensive position taken away from them peaceably, and their troops will never submit to leadership that retreats, even if they are just patrols._  The grass began to speak of tension and the wind began to show foul drifts.  Aldorile hit the ground and felt the earth with his palms.  He set himself down and closed his eyes, breathing deep.  The wind pressed against his face, the chill fighting against the warmth and light of the sun.  _Yes, they are near,_ he thought.  _Very near.  I sense the earth's tension._  "Soon my brother," he spoke to the wind, "soon."  He picked himself up and walked on.

An hour later he saw the orcs off in the distance – they had no idea how to conceal themselves in the plains.  Aldorile didn't really either for that matter, but he wasn't going to mention that fact publicly.  He decided to gather himself and check all his gear, making himself look tip-top.  He buffed once more the hilt and handle of his longsword and pulled the baldric nice and snug across his chest, re-aligning the buckle to rest in the center of his right breast.  He straightened his tunic and breeches, re-rolled his boots so they evened up on both sides and flexed his hands, breathing deep and relaxing himself.  He took some water and washed his face and arms, making sure that his Black Panther Bladesinger tattoo was clean and highly visible on his sword hand.  

The sun was beginning to set.  _It's time._  He set down his pack and reaching in pulled out a large white cloth.  He hung it from the tree branch, let it unfurl, and hollered at the orcs, "I come under the banner of truce!"

He cleared his mind then surveyed the orc positions, making a mental check and defense plan in case of ambush.  _Negotiate indeed.  I'll be lucky if they speak before they attempt to chop me to pieces._  He smiled.  _Attempt._

                It didn't take long before an orc came out to meet him.  Aldorile presented himself and the emblem of the council as verification of his ambassadorship, making sure the tattoo on the back of his hand was well noticed.  By the way the orc stepped back and straightened up when he saw the panther, it was well noted.  He smiled to himself.  _Let him think twice about ambush._  A short exchange in orcish ended with Aldorile leaving the cloth lying on the tree – to remove it before negotiations ended was idiocy.  That's how "incidents" happened.

He was led to the middle of three tents and stood before a fire pit.  The spit had been moved and wooden planks set over the pit to hold a table in front of which he stood.  The orc leader came out in full battle array.  His shield strapped to his back along with his axe, knives planted on his hide armor and a chain wrapped around the left arm.  He was obviously military.  No – he was atrociously military, and was announced as the Patrol Sergeant for the Southern Border of Blackwood.  

                The orc began negotiation.  "We brook no aggression toward you or your kingdom Bladesinger Aldorile of the South Forest Council."

                "Indeed?  I am confused Sergeant," Aldorile said.  "Your border has been extended many miles in the past months.  After accomplishing this task, you have begun patrols close to the elven border.  If you indeed brook no aggression than you must expect it Sergeant, or are your patrols merely an exercise program for your men?"  

                "Please understand that these patrols are neither preemptive or expectorant.  Rather they are precautionary.  You yourselves have a Border Guard.  Do not take these patrols too seriously – they are standard procedure for any bordering sovereign nations with no treaty."

                _This is like a human negotiation.  Something is not right here.  He follows the correct format._  _Let's try some conflict._  "I accept that explanation and thank you for that clarification.  The confusion arises however from the lack of a de-militarized zone separating any bordering sovereign nations with no treaty.  Your patrols are barely half a day's journey from our Border Guard's bowshot.  Surely you agree this is a very small DMZ."

                "No, the General does not agree."  He paused and stared very hard at Aldorile.

                "Understand then Sergeant that the Council considers your General's patrols too close to the elven border to warrant a viable defensive position.  Rather they suggest an offensive position and therefore the Council requests that you graciously pull back your patrols farther north to the Blackforest border which would increase the size of the DMZ and minimize the threat of conflict by purpose or accident."

                "The General requests that you graciously accept the denial of the Council's request."

                "Bladesinger Aldorile of the South Forest Council duly notes the General's denial of the Council's request for the Northbound relocation of his patrols."

                "Patrol Sergeant for the southern border of Blackwood confirms this notation."

                "Thank you Sergeant."

                "You are welcome Bladesinger."

                Aldorile walked back at an even pace to his gear.  He had expected attack from the orcs; though they remained much more cordial and dignified than the stories he had heard about them.  Maybe there was more to these orcs than normal.  He took down the flag of truce, put it away and threw his pack back on.  He walked on to the border, hoping to reach it before it got _too_ dark out here.


	4. Wake Up Call

                The sun raked at his eyes through the window in his quarters.  Aldorile thought about his bed at home as he felt an ache in his back.  _Another Border Guard special – the morning backache.  I hate these beds._  The sun had to be up fairly high to send its harsh light into his window.  _I hate these tree rooms.  Must be near midday by now.  Why did they let me sleep so long?_  Aldorile walked to the door and wrapped his blanket around himself on the way to the front balcony.  _It's too hot to be morning even.  How could I sleep all morning and nobody wake me?_  He pushed the door open with his shoulder only to be pushed back inside by a wall of thick smoke.  Aldorile fell back on the floor as the smoke poured into the room.  Crawling, he searched for the door.  With a solid "clunk!" his head found it.  Closing the door he grabbed his head in a confused fog and cursed.  After a few moments on the floor he calmed his nerves as the smoke in his room spread and thinned into a gray haze.  _Smoke!_  He leaped up and throttled himself onto the bed, tearing the drapes fully off his window.  Aldorile dropped his jaw and stood motionless…dumbfounded.  The red-orange glow danced over his dark skin through the window, turning him into a flickering bronze statue.  Everything around him that was once forest was now a blinding world of orange, yellow and red.  The reality was near unbearable.  The sacred wood was on fire.


End file.
